Help, I'm Alive
by WonderousPlaceForAnEcho
Summary: 13 during the last episode of season 6. Please read if inclined.


Author's Note: This is a simple one shot. The title is from a Metric song which I think is very fitting, though I wasn't listening to it. I enjoy how Olivia Wilde broods considering she seems like such a laid back hippy and she plays intense characters. Edited by Vanamo and thank you. This was written in about 40 minutes and I lied, clearly I'm not done writing fan fiction when the mood strikes me. Ow, damn it, that hurt.

* * *

She heard the words, the concern in them and could only tilt her head.

"What's wrong?" He genuinely for a second seemed as though he has no idea. The implication was there-nothing could harm her, nothing could effect her and get to her. She was impervious. As much as they perceived that it wasn't true.

It was painfully obvious. She didn't want to say it out loud and she didn't have to. Instead she chose to tilt her head. It was redundant. When had her life become redundant and so predictable? When her fate, which she didn't believe in, was sealed with a goodbye kiss from a ghost of mother's past. She wanted to sigh as he had. To feel something, anything, but she was numb. And maybe that was better. She went back and forth over it. Would it do any good, have any value if she felt anything? If she could let herself feel? To let go?

It would be a waste of time to plead for it to be different. She couldn't wish on stars that were already dead.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking at her again with concern. She wished he wouldn't have any, she didn't want it, it wasn't warranted, she didn't really view them as friends and really, she knew it was inevitable. And somehow it was still a shock every time her hand moved without her command, having a will of its own. The devil in idle hands as they said. But she didn't believe that. It was something that was out of her control. The act so foreign as though she were witnessing a patient have a muscle spasm without their intention but instead she was the one with the hand that didn't feel like her own. And really-that was it. She didn't know how to deal with it. It felt as though it was the beginning of unraveling, the end to her previous life where lying provided comfort. But now the truth was starring her in the face at every twitch and jump that her body displayed.

"Obviously not," and she hated the way her voice cracked at the end. The words, the weight to them were too much in her throat and maybe, she thought, her soul strained from the effort. She admitted she wasn't strong enough and she resented that fact, the inadequacy and her failures. She only reserved her breakdowns to herself, alone, or very rarely with Allison. When those moments occurred it was more along the lines of pulling teeth. She never wanted to be viewed as weak. Everyone considered Cameron to be vulnerable because she would connect with people-willingly, but Remy knew it was the opposite. Cameron dared people with her unwavering gaze and ability to inspire love or something like it. And she couldn't stop herself from thinking about the letter she had just placed on the desk.

Before she wrote her resignation, explaining very briefly her need for time off she sat at her computer staring at the blank screen. It was too similar to how she felt. Cameron had come into the apartment then, the computer on living room table. Placing her shoulders on the tense woman she leaned down and pressed her lips to her neck and breathed her in. And even though she felt that she should have enjoyed the moment with her girlfriend kissing along the tendons, her warm breath lingering over her skin, she felt stoic and unaffected. It wasn't until they were in bed, clothes removed, Cameron on top of her, weighing her down, making her feel connected that she let go. Not completely, but enough that she pulled the older woman into her closer and kissed her with tears forming in her eyes. She had to remind herself not to hurt her, this woman who was so patient with her and loving, as though it exuded out of her with intensive purpose. Holding back, she slowly fucked her girlfriend. It wasn't violent, it wasn't soft, but it was a cross between fucking and making love. Telling herself to slow down and that she loved this woman, who was in her arms, her heart...her flawed heart, she reminded herself she needed to cherish it, the moments that wouldn't last as Cameron released a content moan, wrapping her arms around the brunette, drawing her closer, keeping eye contact until she was pulled closer and Remy kissed, nipped and licked the blonde's neck. She was aware of every breath Cameron made and how it was one less that she'd have. There was a visceral need to feel something and this was the closest she could get to healthy. She couldn't resent her, she stopped herself from getting anywhere near those emotions. Instead she flipped her girlfriend, withdrawing her fingers slowly only to push them back in as she leaned down to kiss the lips she'd kissed a thousand times before. Yet, this time was different, there was a shift and she knew Cameron wasn't only physically exposing herself, she was emotionally allowing Remy to inhabit her soul, her body, her spirit as the pace was picked up resulting in scratches down the brunette's back. The moan from the pain held a hint of a thank you and contentment as she absorbed the sting from Cameron's nails. It was masochistic but on some level they both knew she needed it, needed to feel and transfer the overwhelming emotional pain into something corporeal and present. The physical pain was easier and she was grateful that Cameron understood it and supplied it without malice. She kept kissing her, even as she knew her tears were falling on the blonde's face. Reaching up one hand she pulled back to look down at her as she wiped Cameron's cheeks. They didn't have to say anything. More importantly, they didn't want to say anything. Words weren't going to work and this was easier and freeing to fall into the need, the lust, love. It was needed, necessary and crucial to feeling anything, but still she knew, she knew in the back of her mind it wasn't enough. Love doesn't always conquer all, but it would have to be enough for now as she licked and tasted the woman's skin, always shocked at how well they fit together.

Even when they were done, a half hour later they didn't talk. They would another day, but this was the closest thing to perfect, Remy thought, was the way to deal with the loss of herself. Standing up straighter, stiffly, and squaring her shoulders, she held the door handle with certainty, a firm grasp as she left the room, a room that contained her former self. And again, it felt all too redundant that she was letting the door close behind her.


End file.
